


Pale Blue Eyes

by Juliet_the_Infinite



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Bittersweet, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, I Just Want Arthur To Be Happy, Micah Remains the Absolute Worst, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Protective Arthur, Slight spoilers, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering, Vague Description of Animal Death, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet_the_Infinite/pseuds/Juliet_the_Infinite
Summary: After suffering a bad injury, you're rescued by Arthur Morgan and brought back to his camp to recuperate.  At first you're not sure what to make of this enigmatic man, but soon you find yourself feeling things you'd never imagined...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To be completely candid, I wrote this for my own...
> 
> [searches for PG-rated euphemism]
> 
> ...incredibly personal amusement, but I decided to post it here in hopes that other Arthur-obsessed people would enjoy it too! It starts a bit slow, but the good parts are on the way, I promise.
> 
> I couldn't come up with a title, so I put my iTunes on shuffle and waited for a song to inspire me as I wrote. This one, an R.E.M. cover of the Velvet Underground classic, came on about forty minutes later and I figured it would do just fine.

“Miss?”

Your eyes flutter open, then squeeze shut against the pain in your head. You lift a trembling hand to your face.

“Miss, you gotta tell me if you’re okay. You been out for a while.”

“I...I’m not sure,” you say. “What...where am I? Who are you?”

“Arthur Morgan, and you’re in my tent.”

Gasping, you sit upright, then fall back against a pile of furs and pelts as the pain shoots through your head again. You hear a pop, and then flinch at a strong medicinal smell as a bottle is pressed gently to your lips.

“It don’t smell too good, or taste too good neither, but it’ll help a bit with the pain.”

You take a sip, and wince at the bitterness, but several moments pass and you find the strength to sit up and open your eyes. A man kneels in front of you with concern in his faded blue eyes. You glance down and realize that you’re wearing unfamiliar clothes, and your hand flies to your chest in horror.

“Th-these are not my clothes! Have you...did you...”

Arthur instantly grasps your meaning. “Now, miss, I ain’t never hurt a woman who wasn’t trying to kill me first, and I’d never take a woman by force no matter what she done. We got other women in our camp, and I carried you in here but they’re the ones who undressed you and cleaned you up. You’re wearing one of Tilly’s dresses, and she’ll want it back, so take good care of it.”

“But my own dress...”

“...was covered in blood. I found you knocked out, pinned underneath your horse. Couldn’t tell for sure what happened but it was suffering, so I had to put it down.”

“Oh no, poor Starr,” you whisper, trying in vain to blink back your tears.

“Real sorry. I never like doing that but couldn’t be helped. Anyway, looked like you were alone and I didn’t want to leave you out there, what with all the predators about...and not all of 'em animals neither.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. You saved my life.”

He scratches the back of his head self-consciously. “It weren’t nothing, glad I could help. You can stay in our camp long as you need to. Don’t got much right now but you’re welcome to share what we do. Most of the people here are alright, a couple of jackasses but they probably won’t give you no trouble, and if they do let me know and I’ll take care of it. I would have put you with one of the ladies but they don’t got the room. It’s a bit cramped in here too, but you can have the cot and I’ll sleep on the ground. You got people?”

It takes you a moment to remember. “No, not really...my husband Chester died last year and we were never blessed with children so it’s just me now. We---I mean, I---have a small farm.”

“Once you’re all healed up, I can take you home. Might want to wait about a week to get your strength up, judging by that head wound. Don’t seem to be any broken bones, but you’re bruised all to hell and you’re gonna be real sore for a while. You got anyone looking after the place?”

“Yes, there are two young men who help me out. They’ll feed the animals.”

“That’s good. Well, just let me know when you’re up to it and I’ll get you back. Where’s your farm?”

“Just outside of Blackwater.”

Arthur’s mouth twists into a smirk. “Well, I’ll get you close as I can. You might have to walk a bit.”

“I beg pardon, Mr. Morgan?”

“Long story. And Arthur will do just fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur proves to be a bit more "woke" than you might expect for his time, and in which he gets a lesson about female anatomy...

You recuperate for a couple of days in Arthur’s tent. Tilly or Abigail bring you food and wet rags to wash yourself with, and the leader of the camp, Dutch, brings you books from his collection to help pass the time. The pain in your head makes the words swim at first, but eventually you manage to focus your eyes long enough to read. Arthur is gone for most of the day and comes back late at night. He tries to be as quiet as he can, but he usually wakes you up, and occasionally he’ll stub a toe in the dark and curse, or flop onto the ground and instantly begin snoring, forcing you to stifle your giggles against the back of your hand.

On the fourth day, you feel strong enough to leave the tent. You stand for a moment with your eyes shut, lifting your face and enjoying the sensation of the sun on your cheeks and the wind in your hair.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty one,” an unfamiliar voice says. “No wonder Morgan’s been hiding you.”

Your eyes pop open. “Excuse me?”

The man standing in front of you smiles, but it looks more like a sneer on his ugly face. “I’m Micah. What you doing with that stupid bastard? You ought to come over to my tent and I’ll---"

“Bell!” Arthur growls, walking up behind him. “Leave her alone.”

“Why do you get to keep her all to yourself?” Micah whines. “I got some money too and---"

“She ain’t a whore! You know she got hurt and she’s staying here until she can travel again. Take your goddamn money and go to town if you want a woman to lay with. Lord knows you ain’t gonna get it if you don’t pay for it.” Micah grumbles, but stalks away. Arthur watches him go, then turns to you. “Sorry about the language, but some people miss the point unless you’re hammering it right between their eyes.”

“No, that’s...that’s fine. He just startled me is all.”

Arthur moves a little closer to you, squinting, and then without warning he lightly presses a finger to your cheek.

You flinch. “What are you doing?”

“Ladybug,” he says, holding his finger up so you can see the beetle resting there. He gently blows on it, and it flies away.

Arthur tips his hat to you. “Talk to you later,” he says. You watch him walk away and sit down on a bench to talk to Lenny. A simple enough action, so why is it making you feel so strange?

* * * * *

The next few days pass quickly, as you are finally strong enough to help out around the camp. Aside from Micah, who you avoid as much as possible, and Molly, who will occasionally meet your eyes and then sniff as though she smells something bad, everyone is friendly to you. You help with the laundry and cooking and take care of Jack while his parents are either fighting or making up. Arthur seems quite taken with the boy, and draws him a flipbook of a bear riding a horse that makes Jack shriek with laughter no matter how many times he races through the pages.

“You certainly seem fond of Jack,” you remark, as you both watch Jack chasing the chickens around the yard.

“He’s a good boy,” Arthur says. “He reminds me of...well, never mind.”

“Do you have a son?”

Arthur coughs and looks away. “I did, but he passed. His mama too.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, putting your hand on his arm. He startles as though your touch has burned him, and you quickly remove it.

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago. Still hurts sometimes, but not so much. Mostly it’s good thoughts now.”

“I know what that’s like,” you say.

“That’s right, you said you had a husband who passed?”

You smile. “Chester, yes. I married quite young. His family lived next door so I hardly have a memory without him in it. He, well...this is perhaps a bit delicate.”

Arthur’s eyebrow quirks. “You got my curiosity up.”

“To be honest, he was...we were more friends than anything. I wasn’t, shall we say, what he really wanted.”

“Ah,” Arthur says, lighting up a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Yeah, I get what you mean. Known a few fellas I think mighta been like that. I know the Bible’s against it and all but it don’t make no nevermind to me. I ain’t got a right to judge nobody.”

“People were starting to suspect,” you say, and you can’t believe you’re telling this to someone you’ve only known a few days, but you’ve never been able to discuss it with anyone other than Chester and it feels good to talk about it. “His father was saying some terrible things, and he could be violent so I was afraid he might hurt or even kill Chester. Finally we got to talking and realized that if we got married, it might throw him off the scent. Chester had always been good to me, a decent and honorable man, and I knew he would treat me kindly.”

“But didn’t you...I don’t mean to pry, but to be fair you brought all this up. Didn’t you miss the, uh, the...”

You’re enjoying watching him fumble for his words, but you decide to take pity on him. “The more intimate side of things?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we did perform our marital duties every once in a while because we wanted children. But it never took and we thought maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. It was pleasant enough, at least after the first time or two, but never how my friends described it.”

“Did he have anyone else?”

You consider this for a moment. “Not that I know of for sure. He would sometimes say he needed to go on a supply run, and he’d be gone for much longer than it should have taken, so he might have been meeting someone then. It’s fine if he did. He had needs and I wanted him to be happy. He deserved that.”

“But what about you?”

Almost every part of you is telling you that you should cut this conversation short and walk away. You’ve only recently met this man, after all, and proper ladies don’t speak of such things even with people they’ve known for a lifetime. But a secret, scandalous part of you wants to tell Arthur everything about you. You’re no fool; you can tell he’s some sort of outlaw, and that the other people in the camp---with the notable exception of Jack---are a motley crew of gamblers and drunkards and bawds and killers, but it is precisely for that reason that you think perhaps he of all people will accept you just as you are.

"When I felt the urge, I would just take care of it myself."

Arthur leans forward, keen interest in his eyes. "That's...well, I don't know why I'm surprised 'cause there ain't no reason women wouldn't do that too, but I guess I never really thought about it. Maybe 'cause people don't talk about it." His voice thickens. "Mind telling me how?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling yourself grow wet and hoping he can't somehow tell. "I don't know how much you know about female anatomy, but there is a part we have called the clitoris. For lack of a better way of explaining it, it's like a kernel made of flesh and nerves. And when it is stimulated, it feels quite...lovely. It's the only part of the body that's made solely for pleasure."

Arthur laughs. "Ain't that something," he drawls. "A part of you made just to feel good. And they say women are the weaker sex."

"'They', Mr. Morgan, are quite wrong."

"Oh, don't I know it," he says, chuckling and lighting another cigarette. "Never believed that for a minute."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns to his tent and finds that you have a bold proposition for him.

That night, when Arthur returns to the tent, you are waiting. It is a moonless night, so he doesn't notice you sitting up in the cot until you whisper, "Arthur?"

He startles and drops his satchel on the ground. "Jesus Joseph and Mary! I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I've been waiting for you."

He settles down on the ground. "Now why might that be?"

You gather up your courage and say, "What we were talking about earlier...about the...self-relief."

He coughs. "What about it?"

"You might find me quite wanton, but I can't stop thinking about it. It's been a long time since I've done that, and I find myself desperate for release. Would it be alright if I took care of myself right now? I don't mind if you watch, but I can't imagine you'll be able to see much tonight."

Arthur groans, a low desperate noise that starts deep in his throat. "Would I mind? My god, woman! The only thing I'd like more right now would wake up the whole damn camp."

You smile and slide your hand under the heavy furs covering the cot. "Then I shall begin."

"Just one thing."

You pause. "Yes?"

"Okay, two. I want you to tell me exactly what you're doing and what you're thinking about, and I think I'm gonna have to take care of myself at the same time or I'm gonna be real uncomfortable."

"That's three things, technically."

"Never claimed to be good at math."

You laugh and impulsively reach down and squeeze his hand, then slide yours back under the covers. "I agree to your terms. Now, I shall begin."

"Where are your hands now?"

"I have put them inside of my underclothes. I am spreading my...my sex open...ohh...my thumb is rubbing against my...my clitoris and I have put my middle finger inside my..."

"Say it," he grinds out, and you hear a rustling sound and a grunt of satisfaction as he takes himself into his hand. "Be as filthy as you want to be. Use those bad girl words."

"My c-cunt." A spasm of delight jolts your head back, sending delicious shivers down your spine. "I'm putting my finger inside my cunt."

"What are you imagining?"

"I'm imagining...a man I see around town sometimes. I don't know his name."

_Why are you lying?_

"And he follows me into an alley and propositions me, so we go to a hotel and---"

"That ain't what you're thinking."

Your hand halts. "I didn't realize you could read minds, Arthur," you say coolly, trying to hide your fear.

"I can't, but I'm pretty good at reading people, and I don't think that's what you're imagining at all."

You are quiet.

"I think you're thinking about me."

Yes. Yes, of course you are thinking about Arthur. Your savior, your protector, the man you want as your lover. You are thinking about the sunlight in his hair and his handsome weathered face. You are thinking about his pale blue eyes, and how it's such a dime novel cliche but there's nothing else to compare them to but a perfect summer sky. You are thinking of those strong callused hands, the bruised knuckles when he comes back from a fight, how firmly they grip his rifle when he hears a coyote prowling nearby, but how gentle they are when he pats his horse's rump or ruffles Jack's hair. You think of how he looks when he's sitting at the base of a tree, lost in thought, writing or drawing in his journal. You think of how he laughs heartily around the campfire, or rejoices at winning a hand of poker, or sings with great enthusiasm but woefully off key, but how sometimes he looks unbearably sad when he thinks nobody is watching him. But you're always watching; if he is anywhere near you, it is Arthur who draws your gaze. You are thinking of how he looks naked, imagining his chest, his muscular thighs, his manhood between them. You have never taken a man in your mouth, but you want to take Arthur in your mouth, and your hands, and your cunt, even your ass if that's what he wants; you want him to use you in any way he wishes if it would give him pleasure, or erase that sadness in his eyes, even for a moment.

"Yes."

"Then say it. Tell me."

"I'm thinking about you."

"And what am I doing to you?"

"You're biting my neck and you're grabbing my breasts, you're suckling on my nipples, your fingers are in my cunt, your face is in my cunt, I want your cock inside me and I want to feel you spend inside of me, inside of my cunt, I'm imagining my fingers are your cock and it's not enough, it's not ENOUGH---"

"Come for me, darling," he growls, and stifling a cry, you do just that. By the hitch in his breathing, you can tell he has found his release as well. A moment passes, then two, and your heartbeat finally slows. You hear him adjusting his clothes again, the whisking sound as he cleans his hands, and then he awkwardly pats your arm. "Good night," he says, sprawling out on the ground. You feel strangely stung. You're not sure what you expected him to do or say, but it wasn't that.

"Arthur...are we alright?"

"Not sure what you mean. That was real nice, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I mean...was this a mistake? Do you think less of me?"

He sighs. "No, I don't think less of you, but maybe we ought to leave it at this."

"But why?"

"It's complicated."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid!" you shout, and instantly his hand is pressed over your mouth. Frantic, you try to pull his fingers away, but you are no match for his strength. 

"I ain't gonna hurt you, but before I take my hand away I need to know you're gonna calm down. You gonna be quiet?"

"Mmm-hmm," you mumble, and he gently removes his hand from your mouth.

"I'm sorry about that, but I didn't want you to frighten Jack or wake anybody up. This ain't nobody's damn business but our own."

"That's right, so tell me what's so complicated! I'm not asking for a proposal, I just wanted to feel...good in that way, with someone else for a change. It won't happen again if you don't want it to."

"Not a matter of want."

"What then?"

"Just...get some sleep. Please." And with that, he settles back down on the floor. His breathing slows, and almost immediately he begins to lightly snore, but sleep is a long time coming for you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your promising night with Arthur ends on a sour note, you receive a visit from Tilly.

"Would you please go in there and see what on earth is wrong?"

The voices outside your tent rouse you from your fitful sleep, and it takes you a moment to remember the previous night. Your face burns, remembering how you took your pleasure right next to Arthur, and your confession, and his strange reaction afterwards. You bury your face in the crook of your arm.

"Yes, Miss Grimshaw." The tent flap opens and Tilly peeks inside. "Hey there, are you okay? Breakfast is long over and Miss Grimshaw has been complaining about the laundry piling up, so if you're feeling all right, we could sure use some extra hands at the washboard."

You look up at her and bite your lip, trying in vain to stem your tears, but they spill over anyway.

"Oh no, what's wrong?" Tilly asks, dropping to her knees next to the cot and putting her hand on your arm. "Is it your head?"

"No, it's..." you begin, and promptly begin to sob.

Tilly sighs and waits for you to calm down. Once you manage to stop crying, she says quietly, "It's your heart, ain't it?"

Not sure you can trust yourself to keep from crying again, you simply nod.

"I heard you yelling last night. I didn't hear anything before or after, but obviously something happened between you and Arthur." You open your mouth to speak, but she holds her hand up. "No, no...I ain't fishing for gossip. Whatever happened between you and Arthur is your business. But can I just say my piece?"

"Of course."

She pours you a cup of water and you take a long, grateful sip.

"Look, I've known Arthur for a long time, and just about everyone who's not an O'Driscoll or a Pinkerton falls in love with him, one way or another. And I know exactly what you're going to say next, and no, I'm not in love with him, at least not that way. He's been like a brother to me. But what you gotta understand...well, it ain't my place to tell you about his life, but he's been really hurt, and he's got a lot on his shoulders. People expect far too much from him, and he tries to do what he can, but he's never really gotten a chance to grieve the things and the people he's lost, and it's...he's broken. Badly. And I love silly romance novels, so I know the allure of such a man, but it's probably a bit beyond one person to fix him, given that we've all been trying for years."

"I love him," you whisper helplessly, and Tilly shakes her head sadly.

"Girl, I know. I know. And I think, because of that, you should probably go home sooner rather than later. It's not that I don't want you here! You've been a great help around camp, and you're damn near the only person who can beat me at dominoes, but I think the longer you stay here, the harder it's going to be to leave, and you're going to fall harder, and you're going to get hurt even worse."

You sit up and hold out your arms, and Tilly hugs you tightly. "Whatever you decide, I got your back," she whispers in your ear.

"Miss Tilly?" 

You pull away from Tilly and look at Arthur, who is half inside and half outside the tent, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"Everything okay in here?"

"We're fine, Arthur," Tilly says. "She just had a bit of a headache, so I brought her some water and a tincture for the pain. I'm going to get back to work now." Nodding at you, she smiles at Arthur and leaves.

"Hey," Arthur says awkwardly, crouching down next to the cot. "You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," you say, and you both stare at each other for a moment.

"Listen," Arthur says. "About last night...I was thinking on it, and feeling mighty poorly about the way I acted after we...after what we did. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"No, I know," you say. "It was a strange situation."

He coughs and busies himself lighting a cigarette.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah."

"I think..."

You gather up all your courage.

"I think maybe tomorrow you should take me home."

He fumbles the cigarette, but manages to catch it before it hits the ground. "All right."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time to leave the camp and go home, but on the ride back, you decide to tell Arthur how you really feel.

In the morning, after a fitful night's sleep, you open your eyes and see Arthur pulling on his boots.

"Morning," he says. "Do you still want to go home today?"

You have to force the lie out. "Yes, I think it's time. I feel much better and I really should go. I appreciate you sending that letter to my workers letting them know I was okay and I'd be home soon, but it's our busiest season and I need to be there to help."

"Sure. I'm going to go get some breakfast and saddle up the horse. Come on out and find me when you're ready to leave."

When Arthur leaves the tent, you stand up and get dressed, every movement so slow you feel as though you're doing it underwater. You reach down and pick up Arthur's pillow, clutching it to your chest, smelling him, and you allow yourself a moment to weep. Then you dry your tears, gather up your few things, and walk outside.

"Well, miss, I hate to see you leave but it's been real nice having you here," Hosea says, and you shake his hand.

"I very much appreciate everyone's help," you say, glancing around. Micah leers at you, and you quickly turn your gaze away. "Thank you all for taking such good care of me and letting me stay here while I recuperated. I will miss you, and I shall never forget your kindness."

You feel a tug at your skirt and look down at Jack. "Miss! I want to give you this."

You bend down. "What is it, Jack?"

"It's a pretty stone I found by the river! It kind of looks like a heart. I hope you like it!"

You smile through your tears. "I certainly do. Thank you, Jack; I shall treasure it forever."

"Bye miss!" he calls over his shoulder, running after the dog.

"Tilly, thank you for the loan of your dress, and thank you for getting the bloodstains out of my old one," you say. "I have no idea how you did it, but I am grateful."

Tilly smiles. "You're very welcome." She hugs you, and whispers in your ear, "I think you're doing the right thing, but I'll miss you."

"I will surely miss you too," you say. She pats your back and returns to her place next to Miss Grimshaw.

Arthur rides up on his horse. "Ready?"

"I am," you say. He reaches down and pulls you onto the horse, and you call out, "Goodbye! Thank you again!"

"Giddyup," Arthur says, snapping the reins, and you are gone.

* * * * *

After hours of riding, Arthur guides the horse into a clearing. "Figure we should rest a bit," he says, jumping down and helping you off. "The horse needs a break, and I could use a bite."

"Me too," you say. Arthur unrolls a blanket, and you sit down next to him. You share a meal of salted beef in companionable silence as you try to figure out how to say what you need to say.

"Beautiful day," Arthur says.

"It is."

You take another bite, washing it down with water from a flask.

"I see some violet snowdrops over there," he says, pointing. "I think I'll pick a few before we go." He stands and gathers a few, stuffing them in his satchel. He picks one more bloom and sits back down beside you, handing it to you.

"Thank you," you say, caressing its velvety petals, and then you burst into tears.

Arthur sighs. "I've faced down lawmen and gunmen and cougars, but there ain't nothing scares me more than a woman crying. What's wrong?"

You reach over and take his hands in yours. He starts to pull away, then stills.

"I just...please let me say this. You don't have to say anything. I just need to say it and then we can get back on the road and you can take me home and you'll never see me again."

"Go on," he says. He takes a bottle of rum from his satchel and uncorks it, but before he can take a sip, you hold out your hand.

"Can I have some? I need some liquid courage." He nods and hands you the bottle, and you take several gulps before handing it back. You wait a moment to let the burning in your throat subside, then you begin.

"I know I told you about my husband, Chester, and how he wanted to be with other men, not me. And that was fine. Like I said, he was a good man, and I was afraid he was going to be hurt if the truth were known, so I was willing to marry him. But in doing so, I sacrificed so much. We...lay with each other once or twice a month, hoping for a child, and it was not terrible, but it hurt me knowing he was thinking of someone else in order to be with me. It was a duty we performed. We loved each other very much, but not in that way. He wanted to be with another man, and I wanted to be with a man who would love me, all of me, in every way."

"I---" Arthur begins, but you hold up your hand.

"Please, if I don't get this out I never will." You take a moment, then begin again.

"I don't know if I will ever remarry, and I want to experience being with a man who wants to be with me too. I just...I'm not asking you to love me forever. But before we go our separate ways, could you...could you love me for one night?"

Arthur sighs, and closes his eyes. He is so silent that you begin to think you should get up and start walking until some kind soul takes pity on you and offers you a ride to the nearest train station. But then he is pulling you close to him, and his hand is around the back of your neck and he is kissing you so hard you feel you might break, and your fingers clutch at the back of his shirt, wanting him even closer.

Finally he lets go, and when he has caught his breath he says, "There's a hotel in the next town over. Come on."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write. Thank you very much for reading! I've been in a bad state lately (got laid off; happy frickin' holidays to me) and writing about my newest obsession has helped take my mind off things. Your kind comments mean a lot.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, casting your gaze around the small hotel room, looking everywhere but at Arthur. Your heart is slamming against your chest like a trapped bird beating its wings against a window, trying to get out. You shut your eyes, trying to compose yourself, and you feel the mattress sagging as Arthur sits down next to you.

"Will you look at me, please?"

You open your eyes and look straight into Arthur's. He smiles and says, "You look a little hesitant. You sure you still want to do this?"

"More than anything," you say. "Do you?"

"I do," he says simply.

"It's just been such a long time, and the first time with someone who might actually enjoy it too, so...please treat me kindly."

"Wouldn't want to do anything else."

"Could you...will you take the lead?"

"I will, but you gotta tell me if there's something you don't want me to do."

"I trust you," you say, and then Arthur is kissing you, his hands fumbling at the buttons of your blouse and sliding it down your shoulders. His hands cup your breasts, and he pulls away to look at them.

"These are lovely little things," he says, bending his head to suckle at first one, then the other. You moan as his teeth and his fingers capture your nipples, teasing them into hard points. He trails his mouth down your stomach, reaching the waistband of your skirt, and you fumble behind your back to untie it as quickly as you can. 

"Eager, ain't you?" Arthur laughs. "That's okay, I am too." You raise your hips and he slides the skirt down, flinging it aside and hooking his thumbs underneath your knickers. Your face grows hot as he pulls them down and crumples them in his fist, tossing them onto the floor. Arthur puts his hands on your thighs.

"Wait," you gasp, cupping your hands between your legs, and he looks up at you. "Nobody's ever...looked at me there before. Do you really want to?"

"Of course I do."

"But isn't it...ugly?"

Arthur takes your hands and gently moves them away. Swallowing hard, you let your legs fall open, and he says, "I don't see nothing ugly at all. Why would you want to cover something so beautiful up? It's like closing the curtains against a sunset."

"I'm so embarrassed!" 

"Ain't nothing to be embarrassed about, it's like a flower." He spreads your sex wide open and traces around your entrance. "And look at how these petals are glistening for me."

"Oh god..."

"That night in the tent, you said you wanted my face in your cunt."

"...yes."

"Still the case?"

"God, yes, please!"

He pinches your clit and rolls it around between his fingers. "Lucky for you, that's one of my favorite things to do. I love burying my face between a woman's legs, tasting her, teasing this little bud, hearing her moan, knowing I'm the one that's making her lose control."

You raise yourself up on your elbows. "Wait a second...that day we talked about me taking care of myself...you made it sound like you didn't know what a clitoris was."

Arthur laughs. "Of course I did! Also knew that women take pleasure of themselves too."

You swat at his arm. "Then why did you make me say those embarrassing things?"

"Because I wanted to hear those naughty words coming from that sweet little mouth! And my god, woman, you got me so fired up I was barely able to continue that conversation in a civil manner. Had to take the boat out as far from shore as possible and spend myself into the river. Charles wanted to come with me 'cause he thought I was going fishing and I rowed out fast as I could before he could even get in the goddamn boat."

"You are a terrible man, Arthur Morgan."

"Don't I know it." He slides first one, then two, thick fingers inside of you. Your core contracts around them, and you fall back against the pillows, keening. "But I'm gonna make it up to you right now if you'll let me."

"Anything, please...I'll do anything, just..."

"I want to taste you," he growls. "I want my face in that beautiful little cunt of yours. Tell me you want it too."

"You know I do!"

"I want to hear you say it."

"Please, Arthur, PLEASE! Bury your face in my cunt, make me come, I'm yours."

"All right," he says, and then he is obliging, and you cannot help yourself; your hands fist through his hair and you are grinding yourself against his face. You release his head and hold yourself open, spreading yourself wide, exposing those secret parts of yourself, wanting to hold nothing back from him. He flattens his tongue, painting you with broad strokes, then he points his tongue again to torment your clit, pistoning his fingers inside of you. He glances up at you, and you place your hands on his cheeks and whisper, "Yes, my darling, yes, just like that," and you feel that familiar tightening inside, and then the sweet release, and you scream and buck against the bed as your orgasm washes over you, drowning everything else out. 

When the spasms subside, Arthur pulls away and wipes his mouth against the back of his hand. "Am I forgiven?"

"For everything you ever have and ever shall do," you pant. "Thank you."

He laughs and licks his fingers. "Wasn't any kind of chore. You taste like salted honey."

"Well, Mr. Morgan," you breathe, sitting up and blowing a tendril of hair out of your face, "there's obviously someone in your past I owe a thank you note for teaching you that." His eyes cloud over, and you are stricken. "Oh, Arthur, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't." He is quiet for a moment, and then he smiles. "Well, at any rate, that was wonderful but my cock is full to bursting and I think it just might if I don't get my release sooner rather than later. Will you...I mean, I know it's been a long time, but..."

"Arthur, it has indeed been a while, but I am no maid and you've left me dripping. Just go a bit slow at first and I should be fine."

"I got an idea. What if you get on top and that way you can control things a bit better? My blood is so fired up that I don't know if I can restrain myself properly, plus I sure would like to see that show."

You wouldn't have thought you were still capable of blushing after all that's transpired, but you do. "I, uh...yes, that should be fine."

"Let me just get these clothes off," he says, standing and undressing at lightning speed. He is before you naked and, despite being the toughest and most capable man you have ever met, he looks vulnerable, and you feel a pang in your chest. You rise from the bed and go to him, kissing him, tasting yourself on his lips.

"Oh Arthur," you whisper, running your hands over scars both healed and new. "How long has it been since someone touched you that wasn't trying to hurt you?"

"Much longer than I care to remember."

"Then remember this," you say, lovingly kissing each scar, trying to impart the tenderness you know he has been deprived of for so long. He draws a shaky breath as you take his cock into your hand. It is so thick your hand can barely fit around it, and despite your earlier comment, you're beginning to think this might be more difficult than anticipated. He sees your hesitation and gently removes your hand, kissing your wrist and leading you back to the bed. He lies down and you position yourself above him.

"You're okay, girl," Arthur says, and you burst into laughter, noticing the near-hysteria in it.

"You're talking to me like you do your horse!"

"First off, there ain't no bigger compliment I could ever pay anybody than to treat them as well as I do my horse; second, this ain't something I'd ever want to do with her. Now if you wouldn't mind, please straddle me already! I'm fixing to explode and I would like to see myself buried in that pretty cunt before I do."

Complying, you reach down and grip his cock around the base. Arthur reaches forward and slides his fingers between your legs, parting your lips.

"Come on, my little beauty, fuck me."

You slowly lower yourself down, taking just the tip inside of you, and you inhale sharply, biting your lip. It has been so long, and Chester was nowhere near as big. But Arthur smiles encouragingly at you, and wincing slightly, you take a bit more inside. There is a slight burning, and a stretching, and finally he is fully sheathed inside of you. He moans, and when you have gotten reacquainted with the sensation of being filled, you start moving up and down.

"Your cunt feels so amazing," Arthur growls, gripping your hips tightly.

"Please, I want to be underneath you, cover me," you whimper, and in one practiced movement he pulls you under and he is on top of you, gasping, thrusting into you, his beautiful blue eyes meeting yours, and you would not have thought it possible but you are unraveling again and your legs cross around his back and you are crying "Arthur, I love you, I love you, I love you," and knowing you shouldn't, but you cannot stop yourself, you cannot keep it inside, you want him to know that he is worthy of your love, that you accept him as he is, one word from him and you will be his forever.

"My darling," he whispers in your ear as your cunt contracts around him, and he moans as he releases inside of you, and his head falls, his hair brushing your forehead, and he clasps you tightly as you both come down. You stroke his back gently, and after a few moments, he sits up and takes his cigarettes from the table. He lights one and offers it to you, but you shake your head.

"Well, I reckon that was all okay," he drawls.

You stare at him, offended. "Okay? OKAY?" you snap, and then you see the mischievous sparkle in his eyes and lightly slap his arm. "You're having your fun of me!"

"Oh, I did, and I might be flattering myself but I think you had a bit of fun too."

"You could say that," you admit, and he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips taste like tobacco and the salt of your own body, and you melt into him, and then he gently pulls your head down onto his chest.

"Listen," he says. "I don't really know how to put this, but..."

"I know," you say quietly.

"Got nothing to do with you. I ain't a good man and I ain't good for nobody. I don't want you getting tangled up in my life and getting hurt. I already got a lot I don't forgive myself for, and I don't need to add to that accounting."

"It's alright, Arthur," you say, threading your fingers through his. "We've had this evening, and I will remember it fondly all my days, and I hope you do too."

"Reckon I surely will," he says, stubbing out his cigarette.

Your eyes are growing heavy, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "We better get an early start tomorrow. Try to get some sleep."

"What about you?"

"I'll get to sleep shortly. Sweet dreams."

You try to stay awake, to look at him for as long as you can, but your body will not obey. You hear him flipping open his journal, and the scratching of pencil against paper whispers you to sleep.

* * * * *

"That it?" Arthur asks, pointing to a building on the horizon.

You shade your eyes against the sun and squint. "Yes, that's my farm."

"I hate to not take you all the way, but it's too close to Blackwater and, well, I can't be seen there."

"I know, I understand. It's only about half a mile and there's still plenty of light, so I'll be fine."

He clicks his tongue and pulls on the reins, stopping his horse. He dismounts and then grabs you around the waist and helps you down. 

"Arthur, if...if you ever need to hide, or you need any kind of help at all, please come to me. I'll do whatever I can for you."

"I know you would." He kisses your cheek and gets back on his horse. "Take good care of yourself."

"You too, Arthur Morgan." He winks, and turns his horse around. He rides only a few feet before you call out to him. "Arthur!" 

He stops the horse, but does not turn to look at you. 

"You're not a bad man; you've just made some bad decisions. There's a difference." 

"I hope you're right," he says, spurring his horse to start moving again. "I surely hope you're right."

* * * * *

Days pass, then weeks. Life on the farm returns to normal; it is hard work, but rewarding, and eventually you are grateful to get back to a routine. Some nights, you think of Arthur and tend to yourself, remembering his face between your legs, his cock stretching you nearly to your limits, and you come while crying out his name. You begin feeling strange; nothing tastes right to you, and comes up more often than not, but you still can't stop eating. When at last you realize what is going on, you laugh at how obvious it was all along, and then you weep, hoping that Arthur will come back some day for you. 

Boy or girl, you hope it has his eyes.


End file.
